A Homeless Guy Opens The Door For Me At Dunkin Donuts, So I Bought Him A Sandwich

A few weeks ago a homeless guy showed up outside my Dunkin Donuts and started opening the door for people. I thought perhaps it was just a phase or maybe he was visiting some family. But no, each and every morning he grabs his lunch pail (plastic cup), stands outside my Dunkin and opens the door for folks as they enter and exit.

“Have a nice day,” he says in a soft but sincere tone.

“I will,” I respond, handing him nothing.

Just kidding.

“You too!” I offer, adding enthusiasm in an effort to make up for the lack of money I’m giving. You see, I use card to pay for everything. I do this for a few reasons. One, I have a horrible memory so the only possible way to track what I buy is to have it documented electronically. Two, I despise carrying change, which causes an unfortunate situation when face-to-face with a guy who’s committed his entire life to opening and closing a door for change.

I say “you too!”, look at him for a split second, then — embarrassed — I turn and sprint away.

(lol I don’t sprint or run or exercise in any manner. Obviously. I walk.)

Had he gone away after a week or two I wouldn’t have worried about it. Two weeks of free labor is nothing — we have interns on year two now who definitely make less in a year than Dunkin door guy makes in a day.

Yet day after day, week after week, he’s been there. Rain or shine, he’s there. I was beginning to worry about the awkwardness our one-way-street relationship was creating when it reached a boiling point.

He stopped opening the door for me.

Seriously. Others would walk in before me; door opened. Riggs walks up; doesn’t move a muscle. Not a single muscle.

Aghast, I was determined to right a wrong. This act of war from Dunkin door man may deter others from righting this wrong but not me. I knew he was sending a message: If you want your door opened, fucking pay for it.

It wasn’t a message I was about to ignore.

Rather than provide money — which everyone knows could be used for any number of nefarious transactions — I decided on a breakfast sandwich. If he truly is homeless and hungry, I can kill two birds with one stone: satisfy that hunger, and satisfy his yearning for reciprocation.

After acquiring my usual order — a sausage, egg and cheese on a croissant and a large iced coffee with milk — I grabbed an extra sausage, egg and cheese and headed for the door.

No one was there.

He must be on break, I thought. What are the odds.

Frantic and threatened over the looming chance I’d be stuffing two breakfast sandwiches down my throat, I searched. I looked right; nothing. I looked straight; haha just kidding, I can’t look straight.

I looked left. Ah-ha! There he was crossing the street. Break just began, I said under my breathe. We got lucky.

I scurried over, tapped him on the shoulder, and handed him his sandwich.

“You grab the door for me every morning, figured a sandwich is the least I could do,” I offered.

Saying nothing, he smiled.

I tossed one arm around his shoulders, gave his far shoulder a quick pat and said, “See you around.”

It was a corny ass line and no doubt both of us felt a bit weird over it, but I said it nonetheless.

He smiled wider and said softly, “thank you, sir.”

I pondered taking a picture, but that felt wrong. So I saved the receipt since I knew none of you assholes would believe me.

So the question becomes: What happens now? Do I owe him a sandwich a week? Are we boys? Will he acknowledge my awesome act next time I stroll through? Will he grab the door for me?

I don’t know, and honestly I don’t really care. As long as everybody’s eatin’, we’re happy as a clam.